Oubliette
by SGE
Summary: When Arthur discovers Merlin's magic, he consigns him to the horrors of Camelot's deepest dungeon. But when a curse strikes at the heart of the kingdom, can the King repair the damage he's done, and can Merlin find his way back from the darkness. Post season 4, canon relationships, no slash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N – This is a standalone. It's set sometime after season 4.  
**

**Pairings - Mostly Gwen/Arthur, with some bromance. No slash.  
**

**Warnings - None really. It's just a bit dark.  
**

**Historical interest - An oubliette is a specific type of dungeon that is usually only entered from a small hatch in the roof. There are no windows, and there's no way to escape. They had them in some English, Scottish, Welsh and French castles.  
**

**Disclaimer – Merlin and all its lovely characters belong to the BBC and Shine. No infringement is intended, and certainly no financial benefit is being made.**

* * *

Years later, Arthur would still wake at night, the terror of feeling trapped tightening around him like a noose. His eyes would startle open, and seeing nothing but darkness, it would take him a while to recognise reality, slow the speed of his thumping heart, and bring himself back to the security of his bed, and the wife at his side.

The dreams were not his own, that is to say, they were not the result of his own recollections of fear and darkness. He recognised them instead as guilt, an acknowledgment of culpability that would linger and trouble him, probably for the rest of his days.

But at the time, he knew that he'd done what he believed was right. Magic was wrong, it corrupted, and people who used it were evil. He'd been taught that his whole life, he'd seen the truth of it in the world around him.

But it was Merlin.

It wasn't like he'd particularly helped his cause either, by telling Arthur at a good time. In fact, he hadn't told him at all, which had really been a substantial part of the issue. Gwen had told him, and in her defence, she'd probably had reason to believe that Arthur might have been more sympathetic than subsequent events proved.

He'd almost been asleep before her quiet voice had brought him back to full awareness.

"Do you think you could ever trust someone who had magic?"

"Mm?" Arthur had breathed deeper suddenly as he was snapped back from his journey to unconsciousness. He wriggled deeper under the covers.

"Could you ever trust someone who had magic?"

"Could I trust someone who had magic? I don't know." He yawned. "Most people I know with magic are either dead or have declared they want me dead. Either way, I'm pretty sure I won't be trusting them any time soon."

Gwen didn't speak again for a bit, and Arthur felt himself drifting off. He was tired after all. The responsibilities of leading his kingdom through its birth pains left him little time for proper rest.

"What if it was someone good who had magic?" she said quietly.

"Gwen," Arthur muttered. "I think it's been established that people who use magic aren't intrinsically good."

When she didn't say anything else, Arthur felt once more the calming fingers of sleep beckoning him down deeper and deeper and deeper into peaceful….

"Gwen?" he asked, suddenly very much awake. "Are you suggesting that you know someone who you think is good who has magic, and you're trying to subtly find out whether I'll trust this person by surreptitiously interrogating me as I fall asleep?"

"Don't be silly," she turned over, and he could see her smile in the dim firelight as she put a hand on his chest and burrowed closer.

"No no no," he shifted up the bed a bit, putting his elbows behind him and sitting upwards. "You've been acting strange all this week, and that's about the third time you've brought up the subject of magic. Don't think I don't notice these things just because I'm distracted by, you know, being King. I do occasionally pay attention to you."

Gwen sat up as well, her smile fading slightly. "I know you do. But it's nothing. Please don't worry about it."

Arthur sighed. "Gwen if it's important to you…"

"It's not," she assured him. "I just wanted to know what your current thoughts were about magic. Now I know."

He considered her. "You think me wrong to retain such views, given the kingdom I grew up in, and the things we have both experienced?"

"No," she shook her head. "I understand completely."

His eyes narrowed. "Understanding someone and agreeing with them are two entirely separate things," he pointed out.

"True. But forced to chose, I would say that understanding is more important."

Their gaze locked for a few seconds, while behind them in the grate, a log popped and shifted with a soft crackle.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Arthur…"

"If it's that important to you, what promise can I make that you will believe in?"

"It's nothing."

"Gwen please. Would it help if I promised not to execute whoever it is?"

"Always a good start," she admitted.

"And… and not to banish them?" He looked rather guilty as he said the last, but her expression didn't change. Nor did she speak again.

"Gwen, you've started this now. I can't deny that I feel very strongly against magic. But I do trust your judgement. If it's someone you know, if it's someone who needs amnesty or help, then I will try and give it. I trust you. Please, trust me."

He could see her struggle, surprised that whatever this was, it was big enough to cause her such distress. Patiently, he took her hands and waited.

"If I tell you," she said eventually. "It will change so much Arthur. It will change everything."

He squeezed her hands. "Who is it?" he said.

"It's… it's Merlin."

Arthur had been off the bed and calling for the guards before Gwen even knew what was happening.

If it had been anyone else, he reasoned, anyone, even Gwen herself, he wouldn't have reacted as he did.

But it was Merlin.

He'd trusted him with everything, everything. This was a man whose advice he'd come to value over all others. This was a man he considered his greatest friend in all the world. And all this time he'd been using magic?

He felt… tricked, deceived to the core, and sullied somehow for the association. It was worse than when Morgana had turned, worse even than when he'd seen Agravaine join his sister in her march on Camelot. How could he have done this?

"Bring Merlin from his chambers to me now!" he ordered the guards, as he pulled on a shirt, Gwen behind him in the bed, protesting loudly. "No wait!" he paused, changing his mind as he realised that he didn't want to see his servant. He didn't want his stupid excuses, or to be reminded of their time together. He didn't ever want to see him again.

"Order him to get dressed," he corrected coldly. "Then take him to the dungeons. Put him in the oubliette. The orders are that no one is to see him – under pain of death."

Gwen had screamed at him, but he'd ignored her. She'd hit him, but he'd taken it without rebuke.

"You said I could trust you!" she exclaimed, tears pouring down her face.

"I promised I would not kill or banish," he reminded her. "I have not broken that pledge."

"Arthur you've just ordered your best friend to be locked in a dungeon! How is that right? He's done nothing but proved his loyalty to you! You're not even giving him a chance to defend himself!"

He'd taken her arms firmly. "Magic is against the laws of Camelot, Gwen. Merlin knows that more than any other. If I cannot trust one who is so close to me, then who can I trust? Morgana was 'loyal' too before she betrayed us with her magic, have you forgotten that? It corrupts, it eats your soul. If Merlin is using magic, then he is biding his time to turn on us all. Better that we deal with this immediately and move on with our lives. I will not have him killed, but neither will I give him the opportunity to wheedle his way out of this with excuses and lies. You were right to bring this to my attention."

He'd walked away from her then, and she'd dropped to the cold floor, resting her hands upon it as she'd lost herself in the misery of her betrayal.

Gaius had protested the actions loudly, but Arthur sent him away, and told him he no longer wished his council. He guessed the old physician had long harboured his servant and knew his secret. There was no place in his court for such lies, though out of respect for his long service, he took no direct action against him.

Gwaine had threatened him, until he too was arrested and locked up overnight to cool off. The other knights were upset, the court unsettled. But Arthur was unapproachable on the matter. He wouldn't talk about it, didn't want to think about it. As far as he was concerned, it had been dealt with.

Gwen moved out of his quarters, taking instead a less-sumptuous room in the east wing of the castle. She refused to speak to him or to go anywhere near him except when it was required of her at formal state functions. At these, she would sit with frosty dignity, as far away from him as was socially acceptable, and say little.

And so the weeks rolled on.

Arthur's mood didn't change, if anything it became worse. He was mistrustful, convincing himself that everyone had known his closest friend was a sorcerer, and that no one had told him. He would sit at court barely listening, his mind full of memories and images of all the things they had done over the years. How many of his decisions and actions had been swayed and corrupted by magic? How much of himself had he lost to those dark arts that he'd always been taught were pure evil?

Camelot suffered as its king lost himself in dark imaginings, and as the weeks became months, still Arthur refused to talk about what had happened, refused to even broach the subject of Merlin's release, or change the conditions of his isolated captivity. He'd made sure Merlin was getting food and water every day, it wasn't like he was starving him to death. He wanted only to forget him, to forget what he'd done. He was lucky not to have been executed, Arthur told himself, at least he had Gwen to thank for that.

As for the Queen, eventually they had reached a sort of uneasy calm (through great effort on her part) whereby they could talk without her bursting into tears, or calling him a liar and a traitor.

And then one night, as they ate a meal together privately, she'd managed to get him to listen long enough to explain that she'd found out about Merlin's magic when he'd saved her life. It had been a mundane situation, an accident that could have happened to any. They'd been together in the woods just outside Camelot, a simple ride that she took as often as she could, with one maid and one knight for company. Merlin had ridden out with them that time, and while not far from the castle, the horses had been startled by a boar. It was an injured animal sporting a broken arrow left by a careless huntsman, and driven mad with pain. It had gored the knight's horse, while Gwen's had startled and bolted. She'd gripped the saddle in terror as the animal raced through the forest, leaves and branches tearing at her clothes and hair and skin.

She'd been thrown at the top of a steep incline that dropped down into a river, the rocks dripping with mosses and precariously perched trees and shrubs. Miraculously, the horse had managed to save itself from going over, and with the loss of its rider, dove off again into the undergrowth. Gwen was not so lucky, and a firm and fortunate grasp of a tree branch was all that saved her from immediately plunging to her death. But the branch gave way as she tried to struggle to safety, and with a lurch of terror, she knew that she was falling to her death, and closed her eyes against the inevitable.

But it never came. And opening her eyes again, she found herself floating not far off the ground, and in no danger of fatally colliding with it.

Looking up she'd spotted Merlin, sitting a sweating horse, his hand raised and his eyes golden with magic, and wide with fear.

To her disgust, her story changed nothing. Arthur had heard of these events before of course, but not the ending, having been told only that she'd been lucky, and that Merlin had pulled her to safety (by conventional methods). He'd thanked his servant sincerely, praising him publicly for saving his queen. Those thanks felt sour to him now, like a bitter taste than no amount of wine could remove from the mouth.

In any case, he knew that Gwen's feelings, and her efforts to change his mind, were as much to do with guilt as they were to do with anything else. She felt that she had betrayed Merlin's trust – which she had done. And she would have to live with that, as far as he was concerned. Locking the traitor up, had been right for the kingdom, and he wasn't going to start feeling any sort of remorse about it. Merlin had used magic, and magic was banned for a reason. Whatever the results of his actions, he wouldn't change the law for a servant.

Gwen had left the meal early, saying she was tired. He hadn't watched her go.

By mid-summer, Arthur convinced himself that a bit of spirit was entering back into his kingdom. He'd pushed the unfortunate matter of his servant to the back of his thoughts, and felt that he was once more able to concentrate on the legacy his father had left him, and the important role of his birthright. He had commanded a feast, and ordered that all should attend.

The hall was richly decorated with garlands of flowers and tables laden with early summer produce, and the early evening celebrations were lit with bright sunlight flooding through the windows. Arthur found himself laughing at something Leon was telling him, ignoring the subdued face of Gwen by his side, and not even noticing the small and hunched figure of Gaius at an end table.

It was during the entertainment that it happened, as a fire breather, sent out a particularly large burst of flame. A figure appeared before them all, and Arthur recognised his sister before she'd even raised her head. He'd known Morgana was still eager for revenge, and daily his knights had been bringing him news of her army, and rumours of attacks, to which he'd only half listened. But he never imagined that she would be so bold as to directly threaten him like this.

As it happened, it was Gwen she targeted, dropping the queen screaming in agony to the floor with one curse. And that's all it took, a smile the last thing that Arthur saw of her as she vanished from the hall.

He threw himself to his queen, all thoughts of arguments and bad feeling disappearing. He heard his knights throwing tables to the side behind him, scattering plates and food in an effort to give them more room and access, and then Gaius was at his side.

"Save her Gaius. Please."

The old man put his hand to her head, gazing into eyes that were wide and full of a terror known only to those who feel the cold fingers of death around them, pulling them from the world with every shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry sire," he said quietly after a few moments of inspection.

Arthur's face was pleading. "Please. You must try. There must be something."

"This is no ordinary curse sire," Gaius explained wearily. "This is sorcery of the blackest kind. A spell with only one purpose. Only the strongest magic could hope to defeat it."

Arthur's grip tightened, but it was unclear whether that was from the fear of losing Gwen or the fear of just the mention of the word magic.

"I can't lose her," he stated softly, his eyes fixed on his wife's, seeing the black veins of his sister's magic trickling under her dark skin, up onto her face. She cried out in pain, the noise echoing in the hushed hall.

His grip tightened further, and he looked up at Gaius once more, almost as if checking to see if that scream had spurred him into action, and made him reconsider his earlier words. But his face remained sad and resolute. There was nothing he could do, and no reason for him to give false hope with pointless attempts.

Queen Guinevere was dying.

She cried out once more, and the sound went through Arthur, as though someone had stabbed him in the chest. Better to feel that pain himself than watch her suffer it.

Then he looked up, a thought striking him potently and sharp, his skin prickling. "What about Merlin?" he asked.

"Sire?"

"He has magic, you've told me he has strong magic. Is his magic strong enough to counter Morgana's?

"I – I'm not sure sire," Gaius looked aghast.

"Could he cure her?" Arthur was determined now that the thought was in his head. "Answer me!"

"I – it's possible, though I'm not sure that…"

"Guards!" Arthur spun, as much as he could whilst kneeling and clinging to Gwen's hand still. The knights around him were looking uncertain, ineffectively clutching the hilts of their swords, as a pair of household guards pushed their way forwards between them towards the king.

"Bring me the sorcerer from the oubliette," he told them without preamble. They looked at each other questioningly. "Fetch Merlin to me," Arthur rephrased it. "Now, you fools! The Queen's life depends on it!"

With that the men turned and fled, pushing the crowd out the way roughly, and making for the doors at a run.

Arthur turned his attention back to Guinevere.

"Keep talking to her sire," Gaius said softly. "It may help to keep her with us." Then as Arthur leaned forwards and started mumbling quiet words into his beloved's ear, stroking a hand down her check with such care and tenderness, the physician reached into his bag. Fumbling around, he eventually drew out a bottle, and read the label, then turned back to the king and queen. "Here, Arthur," he said. "Help me get her to drink this."

Arthur looked confused. "But I thought you said…"

"It's a stimulant, nothing more. It may prolong her life, not save it."

Eagerly, Arthur reached round and lifted Gwen's head so that Gaius could pour the liquid into her mouth. She shuddered, but swallowed, and after a few moments, it did appear as though her breathing eased slightly, though her muscles were still clenched with pain.

Time passed with aching slowness as they waited for the guards to return. Arthur continued to stroke Gwen's cheek and whisper nonsensical words in her ear as slowly she began to deteriorate once more, clutching at his hand as she struggled to find breath.

An eerie quiet surrounded them in the hall, the fifty or so people muttering to each other in hushed whispers only, whispers that muted instantly with the sound of footsteps marching outside.

It was a small contingent of guards that appeared at the doors, hurrying along between them a figure who clinked with chains. They stopped in the middle of the hall, and only the slightest of pushes brought the figure to his knees.

At the gasps around him, Arthur looked up from Gwen.

His mouth went dry. The sight before him was like looking at his worst mistake made manifest; his most terrible deed laid bare for all to see and for him to face in front of his peers and his knights and his councillors.

He got to his feet.

Merlin's hair was too long, hanging past his ears in thick, lank, tangled clumps that stuck out at odd angles. What could be seen of his skin was filthy, scuffed with stripes of black, and flecked with grime. A messy, three-month old beard darkened his face, while his ripped clothes hung from his shoulders like autumn leaves. He was thin, tired-looking, sagging as though barely able to hold the weight of himself up. The crook of one arm was thrown up awkwardly over his eyes, presumably to shield them against the evening sunlight streaming into the hall, and bouncing chaotically off a hundred pieces of well-polished armour. His nails were broken and black.

Arthur's disbelief slowly turned to horror. How could he have done this?

He started to walk towards him. He wanted to run, wanted to start blurting out apologies, asking for forgiveness, throwing himself on the floor and telling Merlin that he was sorry, that it was one of the worst decisions he'd ever made, and how could he ever make it up to him.

But he didn't. Kings didn't. And anyway, what difference would it make now? The deed was done, and however powerful, Arthur didn't possess the ability to reach back in time and correct his mistakes.

So instead, he walked straight towards him, and stopped a short distance away.

"Merlin?" he asked, fighting not to recoil and gag at the smell of three months in a dank dungeon wearing the same clothes day in and day out and never once seeing water for washing.

Merlin didn't speak, but he stiffly lowered his arms, and opened his eyes. Just a slit, squinting. It was in fact entirely possible that most of the room was beyond his visual range. But whatever his limitations, he still managed to fix his gaze on Arthur.

"I…" Arthur didn't know what to say, driven by his concern for Gwen, but horrified by the tangible results of his decision.

"I need your help," he came out with eventually. "Gwen's sick," he was speaking faster, encouraged, and spurred on by the lack of response. "Morgana was here, she cursed her. She's in pain, screaming, there's this – this thing in her. Gaius thinks she's dying. It's magic."

At that, Merlin gave his first reaction, his head moving up a fraction so that he could look over Arthur's shoulder to where his uncle still kneeled beside Gwen.

"Will you help her?" Arthur's voice brought Merlin's gaze back to him. "Please. Please."

Merlin looked at him. He seemed to be thinking. It seemed to take him a long time. Too long. Arthur even started to think that somehow his servant could no longer understand him, that three months of silence had robbed him of the ability to recognise words and decipher their meaning.

But then he gave the smallest of nods, and held out his wrists. Arthur looked down stupidly as though he had never seen anyone in chains before, then realised suddenly what the gesture meant.

"Free him," he demanded, looking up at the guards. They rushed to obey, but Merlin paid them no heed. His eyes were fixed on Arthur, dark under his dark fringe of hair. The restraints fell quickly away, and Arthur leaned in to assist one of the guards in hoisting Merlin back to his feet. It was only then that Arthur realised his feet were bare.

Once upright, although clearly not steady, Merlin pulled away from them both and stood on his own for a moment, before taking on the short distance to Guinevere without assistance. He walked with a dignity and pride that belied his appearance, taking shaky, but determined steps past men and knights as familiar to him as the nose on his face, but who now drew no flicker of recognition. He did not raise his hand in greeting, never once turned his head in their direction, or smiled, or acknowledged anyone in any way.

And they, many of them, looked away, and lowered their eyes.

Once Merlin seemed to falter and stumbled slightly to the side, sending people reaching out for him. But he ignored them all, corrected his path, and took the last few steps towards the Queen, Arthur at his heels.

Carefully, Merlin lowered himself to the ground as the King and some of his knights crowded around. Excruciatingly aware of them, Merlin moved his head slightly to the side, and spoke for the first time.

"Move back, Arthur," his voice was little more than a whisper.

"I'm not taking one step from my wife," Arthur countered. He had already lifted her hand again, and was stroking it with concern. Sir Leon was standing at his shoulder, ready to assist, perhaps, if the 'sorcerer' did anything untoward.

"It was not a request," Merlin's eyes flared gold at his words, and Gaius' widened in shock, as Arthur, the knights, and indeed anyone standing close to the trio on the ground, were thrown backwards. Not violently, but with enough force to stumble them off their feet.

The hall erupted into noise, as people started to shout or scream in fear and anger, and those on the floor pushed themselves upwards. But the noise ceased abruptly, as with another flash, the world slowed around them to almost no movement at all, Arthur's face comical as he expressed his outrage in infinitesimal slow motion. Comical, that is, were anyone present who had the heart to have a sense of humour.

Gaius looked around, eyes wide, unsure what was happening.

"It's so good to see you, Gaius."

The quiet words brought him back to Merlin. His nephew was sitting on his heels, emotion clearly overwhelming him, a smile struggling to break through his cracked lips.

"Merlin…" he didn't know what to say. What did you say when you saw someone you loved after so long and looking as Merlin did? He wanted to gather him up and take him home and feed him and cut his hair, and care for him and tell him all the things that had happened while he'd been locked away in the darkness, and keep him safe from anything ever happening to him again.

But there was no time for any of that.

Gwen cried out in pain. Whatever enchantment had slowed time in the rest of the hall, clearly had no hold over the three of them, and the young Queen's suffering continued its relentless march.

Merlin's eyes snapped down from his guardian's to his friend's face, and he reached out to take her immaculate hand in his grime-encrusted fingers.

"What happened to her?" he asked quietly, searching her features for clues as to her ailment.

"Morgana happened," Gaius answered quickly. "She enchanted her, a spell so vicious and dark that I can't even begin to understand it: and certainly too powerful for me to cure."

Merlin put his hand on Gwen's forehead. Her eyes blazed open at his touch, but she was half blinded and muddled with pain. It took a while for her to focus on her companions.

"Merlin," she gasped, clearly scarcely believing what she saw in front of her.

"Rest easy Gwen," he took his hand from her forehead, and rested it on her shoulder. "We're doing everything we can to help you."

"No – no you shouldn't! Not after what he did to you. What I let him… Merlin I'm so sorry." She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then sought his face again. "It was my fault. All of it. I thought him different. I thought your friendship would…"

"Shhh," he said. "It's okay." He forced another smile onto his lips. "Please save your strength. I don't blame you for anything. I just want to get you well."

She shook her head. "I don't deserve it. Not from you. Just let me be." She gasped then suddenly, her eyes going wide as a new pain hit her, and they could clearly see the tendrils of whatever black poison it was spreading beneath her skin into her neck and up towards her face, then across her eyes. Her body convulsed slightly under the onslaught, her hand gripping his tightly, as she slipped away back into unconsciousness."

He replaced his palm on her forehead quickly. "_Ge hailige_!" His eyes glowed, but nothing changed at his words. He tried again. Nothing. Then a different spell. The black continued to spread.

"Gaius," he looked up. "What can I do? There's nothing that will stop it!"

"It may be that nothing can," Gaius intoned soberly. "That Arthur is clutching at straws."

"But I have defeated her magic before," Merlin insisted.

"My boy, you've been in a hole in the ground for three months!" he said. "You're not strong enough for this challenge. It is unfair for the king to place the burden on you."

Merlin shook that off. "His fault is not Gwen's," he insisted. "There is no reason for her to suffer." He sighed, frustrated, desperately seeking in his head for a way to cure her, to force the curse from her that would surely be her death before much longer.

Then he blinked. There was one way.

He felt his heart pound as his brain took in the implications, but acceptance came easily, and he looked up at Gaius from under heavy lids.

"There isn't time," he said.

Gaius' face creased. "Merlin?"

"I wanted to – all the time I've been away – I wanted to tell you it wasn't your fault – that I was grateful for everything you've done. I wanted you to know that. And please, tell my mother that I was happy here. I don't want her to worry, or think my death was without honour."

"What do you mean?" Gaius asked sharply.

But Merlin didn't answer him, instead he looked back down at Gwen, and quickly placed both hands over her body. "_Bebiede þe arisan diegol. Curs cume mec. Bot ond tile!_" he said, his voice ringing with authority.

Gaius' shocked cry at what he'd done, was drowned out by the screaming rush in his ears as the black poison dragged itself from Gwen and flew to its new host without pause. He felt it slam into him, force its way through his pours and skin and enter his bloodstream like a pack of dogs on the scent of a injured hind. He gasped at the sensation, the pure evil, the blackness that was rejected by everything in his being. His magic flared instantly in response to the intrusion, losing all other focus, the combined strength of both forces so colliding, sending him tumbling over backwards, rolling and landing hard to lie gasping and scrabbling on the floor a short distance away.

A shock of noise resounded around the hall, as the spell holding everyone in place cracked instantly, and a flood of voices and movement returned. Arthur and his knights surged forwards on their original intent, not even seeing the body lying in their midst and stepping over it unthinking in their rush to protect the Queen: a Queen who was now lying with eyes open, gasping in breaths of air into her clean lungs.

There was a moment of supreme confusion as Arthur grabbed Gwen and hugged her to him, only to quickly realise that she no longer appeared to be dying; the knights stumbled around with drawn swords looking for something to fight that was no longer where they had left it mere seconds before; and Gaius looked between them all, unsure what had just happened, and feeling dread grow within him.

"Where is that wretched traitor?" Arthur demanded of him. "Trust him to take advantage of our weakness and seek to escape!" he had tears in his eyes, as emotion got the better of him.

Then Gaius finally managed to drag his senses back together, and caught a fleeting glimpse of his ward lying on the ground, almost hidden by the legs of knights and courtiers that were crowding around.

"He has not tried to escape sire," he said harshly over the noise, struggling to his feet. "He has cured her by taking the sickness on himself. He would give his life for Gwen, as he would for all of you. Not that you deserve it. Now move aside," he pushed a knight out of the way with as much strength as he could muster, and hurried to Merlin.

Bewildered, Arthur looked down at his wife to see that indeed, she no longer appeared to be in any pain. Tears filled her eyes, but they appeared to be of sorrow. "Arthur, how could you!" she was saying. "After what you'd done! How could you do that to him."

"But what are you…?"

He broke off and looked over as he heard Gaius say: "Merlin?" What he saw froze him with shock.

The warlock was shaking violently as his body fought the terrible magic he'd absorbed from Gwen. Breath was catching harshly in his throat, eyes staring fixedly at the cracked ceiling far overhead.

Slowly, noise in the hall dropped right away as people realised what was happening, and a rough circle gathered around Merlin, all looking down on him, with varying expressions of sympathy.

Gaius was at his side.

"My boy, what have you done!"

"No – other – way," he stuttered out, fighting to breathe. " – rather – die here – than go back..."

Gaius took his hand as the black magic surged under his skin suddenly, causing him to shake and shake, and eventually cry out in pain as it became too much.

But then suddenly, instead of overwhelming him, the black magic seemed to rush through his body, but almost as though it were being pursued. And Merlin began to glow with an unearthly light, brighter and brighter and brighter until those closest had to shield their eyes. Then with a whoosh and an explosion of air, the black tide flew out of his body up, up into the air, the light chasing it and driving it screaming into the nothing. Everyone fell back in horror at the sight, covering their faces as the blackness hit the roof and burst outwards into a million tiny pieces that fell away and dropped around them as gentle rain.

While at the epicentre, Merlin lay gasping, exhausted, all the fight gone out of him, barely able to move.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Gaius paused, gripping the tray tighter for a few seconds. He was too old for this – too old for a lot of things – but he was really too old for this.

He took a breath.

Pushing open the door, he made his way unannounced into the dingy room, navigating his way around the bed with ease. He placed the tray as silently as he could on the little table to the left of the sleeper, who hadn't stirred at the interruption. Hadn't stirred, because he wasn't sleeping. He wasn't moving either, and his eyes were shut, his body curled. Only the tense movement of his fingers, lying visible above the homespun cover, gave him away.

Gaius regarded him for a moment. He knew he wasn't asleep. They'd played this game every morning for the last five days. But this was his chance to steal a closer look at his ward, even though the permanent semi-darkness of the room prevented a proper examination.

"Merlin," he called softly. "Time to wake up."

The figure in the bed opened his eyes immediately.

Gaius smiled down at him, wishing he could persuade him to shave off the beard. It made him look so much older. "How did you sleep?"

The smile he received back was like an echo. "Fine, thank you."

"That's good. There's breakfast there for you." Merlin wandered his gaze over to the tray to see what delights had appeared that morning. The quality of the food they'd both been eating had improved dramatically since he'd been released from the oubliette.

"Now how about the window this morning?" Gaius wondered, trying to keep his tone breezy. He looked away. "Shall we let a little more light in?"

"I'd rather not," Merlin said quickly, then when Gaius turned back towards him, followed it up with: "It still gives me a headache, I'm afraid."

"Well, we can leave it a little longer then."

"Thank you."

Gaius made his way back to the bed, and took a seat. Merlin scooted over slightly to give him space. He was avoiding his eyes as his uncle scrutinized him.

"Do you think you'll want to come out maybe a little later on today?"

Merlin shook his head, reaching out for something on the tray.

"Gwen was asking about you again. She'd like to see you. She's worried about you."

"Please Gaius…" he was still looking at the tray.

Gaius waited for an end to the sentence, but nothing came. He sighed softly, pushing himself back to his feet.

"Alright. Eat as much as you want. I'll come back for the dishes in a little while."

Merlin nodded, studying the bread he'd picked up with great interest, and not once raising his eyes as the old man left.

* * *

"You would have thought, after all that time alone that he'd fancy a bit of company," Gwaine commented. It was a week later, and he was perched on the edge of Gaius' table, arms folded as he watched the physician write something in his journal.

"Yes, well, I'm afraid it's not as simple as that," he sighed.

"And he definitely doesn't want to see me? He's not just being funny in that funny Merlin way of his?"

Gauis looked at him over the top of his glasses. "Yes Gwaine. I'm quite sure." At the knight's despondent sigh, he added. "If it's any consolation, I seem to be the only person he will allow into the room." When that still didn't seem to appease him, the physician finally put his pen down. "He's not himself," he offered.

"But physically he's okay? I mean you told Arthur he was well."

"I said he was as well as could be expected."

"That doesn't mean well?"

Gaius just looked at him.

"So how is he then?"

He shrugged. "Not sleeping," he said. "And he has developed what I can only describe as a nervous disposition."

Gwaine's mouth twisted sideways as he tried to make the best of that information. "Well, it wasn't like he was the kingdom's most relaxed individual to start with."

"I think he hears things that aren't there," Gaius went on almost absently. "I'll find him muttering to himself, rubbish, nothing that makes sense. But he won't talk about it. He won't talk about anything. And he's developed quite the temper. I can't persuade him to come out of his room. I can't even persuade him to have his hair cut or get dressed. He's starting to look like a hermit."

"Why won't he let us help him?" the knight looked genuinely confused. "It's not like he's in danger any more. Arthur won't hurt him again. I'd kick him all the way to the border of Camelot if he tried. Should have done that before of course…"

Gaius folded his arms. "Merlin was alone for weeks, Gwaine. Imagine sitting there day after day wondering if this was the day you were going to be let out, and being disappointed. Imagine waiting to see if today was the day they were going to come and execute you. He must have felt like the world had abandoned him, like he was going to be alone for the rest of his life. Nobody would deal well with that situation. And sitting there with nothing to do and no one to talk to, Merlin would have had plenty of demons heaving themselves out of the darkness to torment him."

Gwaine glanced at Merlin's room. "He must hate us," he said quietly.

Gaius shook his head. "He just needs time," he said, coming forward to pat Gwaine's arm. "Let's just give him more time."

As the physician wondered off to look for something amongst the clusters of bottles sitting on his worktable, Gwaine puffed out his cheeks. He had training to get to, and he'd been late every day that week, not that Arthur commented on it. All the King ever did was look up at him slightly crossly from under hooded eyes as Gwaine sneaked in at the back.

He almost wished Arthur would make something out of it. Then he'd have an excuse.

But before he went, he wanted to ask something, something that had been bothering him for days now. Elyan had asked him about it too, and between them, they couldn't come up with an answer. But then, they had no experience in this area, and they felt awkward even talking about it.

"Can you tell me something Gaius?"

"What's that?"

"Why didn't he… Merlin I mean, why didn't he just…" the knight paused, unsure of how to phrase his question.

Fortunately for him, Gaius could fill in the missing words. He turned back, raising his eyebrow. "Why didn't Merlin just use magic to escape the oubliette?" he finished. Gwaine nodded, relieved.

Gaius sighed and wandered back to his desk. "I've asked him the same thing. He could have blown that place apart and left, run far away where Arthur could never find him."

"Well why didn't he?"

Gaius' face took on a sombre expression. "He told me he was waiting. He was waiting for Arthur to forgive him. He said he thought that if he just waited, the King would come and let him out. He didn't want to jeopardise their destiny and their… friendship. And so he sat, and he waited, and waited, and he lost track of days, and no one came. And the weeks passed. I think it stopped mattering. I think he stopped caring. I think he lost himself in the darkness, and he lost his magic, and forgot that it could have been his salvation."

"He trusted Arthur?" Gwaine asked incredulously. "He trusted him after what he'd done?"

"Merlin's always had faith in Arthur," Gaius tried to explain. "He's put up with a lot from him over the years, and it's always turned out for the best. This time his faith could not have been more misplaced."

Gwaine nodded tersely. "Thank you," he said, getting to his feet.

"Gwaine," Gaius said sharply, as the knight turned to leave. He met his eyes. "Before you do anything rash at the training session you're rushing off to, remember that Arthur is still your King."

Gwaine's face hardened, and the door slammed behind him with a bang that shook dust from the rafters high up above their heads.

* * *

"I don't want to see him."

"And what exactly do you expect me to tell him this time?"

"I expect you to tell him that I don't want to see him," Merlin said softly, and rolled onto his side.

Gauis sighed, his frustration rising. Three weeks now, three weeks Merlin hadn't left his room, had refused to see anyone else except one brief and extremely uncomfortable visit from Gwen. He'd barely left his bed, despite Gaius' persistent badgering.

"I don't feel up to it today," he'd say. "Please leave me be."

"Merlin…"

"I said no Gaius!" his rage appeared from nowhere, and he turned aggressively and sat up to fix the old man with a glare. "I'm not seeing him, not today, not ever. Arthur doesn't get me any more. Now leave me be!"

Gaius straightened up at the assault. "You're not staying in this room forever," he cautioned firmly.

"I don't intend to," Merlin shot back. "As soon as I get my strength back, I'll be gone. You'll never need to worry about me again."

"What do you mean by that?"

Merlin just gave him a sour look and rolled over again.

"Please go away," he clipped out.

Gaius stood looking down at him, his mouth a firm line. But there was no talking to him when he was like this. And every time they had one of these confrontations, it broke his heart just a little bit more. Of all the cruelties that Arthur could have perpetrated, this was surely the worst.

He turned and left the room quickly, closing the door behind him and turning to face his King who was pacing expectantly in the other room.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," he said.

Arthur unfolded his crossed arms. "Gaius that's the third time this week he's refused to see me. How am I supposed to make things right between the two of us if I can't even get access to his room?"

"You'll just have to think of something else," he said. "Merlin's angry today, and even if I let you in there, I don't think he'd be prepared to listen to you."

"Gaius, I can't let this continue."

"I'm not sure what choice you have sire. And please remember that it is a situation you created."

"How could I forget that," Arthur sighed, rubbing his face. He looked Gaius in the eye. "I need to fix this," he insisted.

Gaius wasn't disagreeing with him. "Yes. But not today."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

He was folding one of Arthur's shirts, feeling the clean, crisp material twist willingly under his practised fingers, when he realised that Gaius was talking to him. He couldn't really hear what he was saying; the window was open and the room was filled with the sound of cheerful birds. Not that it mattered. Gaius would tell him about whatever it was later as they sat together having their evening soup.

"Please," he said, warding off any argument or statement that he wasn't paying attention or taking his guardian seriously, or saving Camelot at that particular moment. After all, some things could wait. "I need to get this finished."

"It is important, Merlin."

"More important than Arthur's shirts? You know how he gets."

"So does that mean you're not going to do it?"

He glanced up, his fingers working on the sleeves to get the creases just right. Arthur hated creases in the wrong places, like he hated under-shined buttons and the nap running in all different directions on his velvet coat. Merlin grinned at the dark-haired knight. "As I said to Gaius, Lancelot, I need to get this finished first."

"Need to get what finished?" Arthur looked to be in a hurry as he strode in, removing bits of armour and dropping them to the floor as he breezed past.

Lancelot came closer and smiled broadly, squeezing his arm. "Don't let him get to you," he said, and turned to go.

Merlin didn't watch him as he walked out, his eyes on Arthur. "Your laundry sire. You always get grumpy if you don't have clean shirts."

"Yes yes, but I always do, Merlin. You make sure of that. Help me with this." He tugged at him mail shirt, and Merlin immediately crossed towards him and pulled it off. It felt so light in his hands, like it was made of nothing, and he clutched it to his chest, feeling how soft it was. Amazing that it gave so much protection on the battlefield.

"Now I want you to do something for me Merlin."

He looked over at his King. "Anything sire, you know that."

Arthur smiled broadly, and reached out to clap him on the back. "Come with me then," he said, crossing to a grand door in the wall of his chambers.

Merlin looked down. The mail shirt in his arms had disappeared. Oh. Convenient. He forgot about it and walked over to stand beside Arthur.

The door in front of them was small, but iron clad, and covered in bolts and locks. Arthur leaned over and opened it with a tug. Inside was as black as a wolf's throat.

"I need it cleaned," the King said, running his finger around the inside of the doorframe, and bringing it back black. "I don't think anyone's been down there for years," he confided in a whisper.

"But it's dark," Merlin said, moving back slightly. "I'll need a light."

"Don't be ridiculous Merlin, who needs a light to clean with?" He took a firm hold of his servant's arm. "Now in you get. Don't be such a wet petticoat."

"Arthur no!"

"Merlin it's just a cupboard. Stop making such a fuss!"

"Please, don't, please…!"

"In you get," Arthur shoved him forward, and he felt his hands collide sharply with the stone wall opposite the door, scuffing the skin, and sending pain slamming through his wrists. He turned, but the door was already shut.

"Arthur don't!" He ran forward and scratched at the door desperately, like an animal stuck in a trap and tearing at the ground in terror. His nails snapped under the onslaught, and he brought his hands back to his chest protectively.

All around him was inky blackness and he had the sudden, overwhelming sense that wherever he was, he'd been there before, and he was trapped now, trapped with no way out. Arthur had engineered this, Arthur had wanted him here.

"But you said you only wanted me to clean!" he wailed to the darkness, knowing full well that no one could hear him.

Then a face loomed from the darkness, a stranger with dark hair and torn clothes and sorrowful eyes. "You'll be here forever you know," the voice said. "If I don't eat your flesh before it rots."

As the stranger's ugly long fingers reached out for him, Merlin started violently, clutching at the sheets around him with a tight spasm of his hands and slowly becoming conscious and aware as the dream faded and the bed beneath his body solidified.

His breath hitched, and he blinked his eyes, pressed down into his mattress by the heavy weight of fear that had followed him back to a wakeful state.

"Are you alright?"

The voice prompted him to move, as he breathed in shock, turning his head and blinking again, instantly screwing up his eyes at the flash of hateful sunlight. There was a creak and the light dimmed suddenly.

"Sorry," the voice he knew was Arthur, and the King he guessed had been standing with the door to his room wide open, allowing the bright light to stream through. A blanket still hung over his own window to keep the worst of it out, though Gaius told him daily now that he should remove it; that his eyes would never adjust if he didn't give them the chance.

"What do you want?" he asked in a low voice, trying to force his eyes open again.

"I heard noises," Arthur said. "Gaius wasn't here. I just came to see if you were okay."

"Fine," Merlin responded, not looking in his direction and still touched by the darkness of his dream.

There was a brief silence. It lasted an eternity.

"Can we talk?"

Merlin struggled with his dry throat, reaching out for the cup of water on his bedside table and sitting up to drink it.

He took a gulp, it felt like he'd swallowed a stone. "We have nothing to say to each other."

"I would disagree with that."

The King finally came into focus and he watched him over the top of his cup before putting it back down. "Say what you have to say," he muttered. "Then leave."

His tone brought Arthur's chin up, and he had the impression that the King wanted to rebuke him, but stayed his tongue. He continued watching him darkly.

"I want to fix this."

"Fix what?"

"Us."

"What's to fix?"

Arthur looked surprised at that, but he said: "I did a terrible thing to you, Merlin, an awful, terrible thing, and I'm sorry. I want to make it up to you."

Blink.

"Is that it?"

Arthur gaped. "Is that it? I'm standing here apologising to you!"

"And you want me to be… grateful for that?"

"I want you to at least acknowledge it!"

"Why, so that you can feel better?"

"So that we can move on."

"Ah, I see. You want to put this whole unfortunate episode behind us. Well, that's a little easier for you than it is for me."

Arthur looked at him, seeing him in his crumpled sleeping clothes, his hair hanging long over his eyes, his black beard. He barely recognised his friend.

"I'm sorry Merlin," he said in a different tone, shaking his head. "I truly am sorry. Gaius told me, told me everything that you've done for me over the long years you've been here. He told me about breaking enchantments, about protecting me from Morgana. How it was you and not me who defeated the dragon, who saved me from assassins and even made sure that I ended up with the one I love. I know now the sacrifices you've made for me, and I know that nothing I could ever say would make up for all of that. And for what I did. But you must let me try. Please. Let me fix this."

Merlin looked down. "Okay," he said. "Give me back the light."

Arthur looked confused. "What?"

"The light," he said, a little louder. "And my pride and dignity. You took those from me, Arthur, didn't you know? And you gave me nothing back but a fear of the dark. But do you know what you really took from me?" He looked up. "What locking me in a stinking hole without the sun and without my family, and without even one chance to tell you my side of the story? You know what that destroyed? My faith in you. My love for you as a King.

"All my years here, I've done it all for you, everything, I would have died for you. And when you had the chance to prove yourself to me, to prove that you could be a truly just and worthy King, you fell upon a stony shore." Merlin shook his head, tears starting in his eyes, his voice becoming emotional. "I'd always hoped for a better future, I'd always seen you there, as this shining figure of light, this great... King, the greatest King that Camelot had ever seen. And it's gone now! You took that from me. You took the purpose of everything I worked for." He shook his head. "You can't fix this Arthur."

Arthur swallowed, moved to silence.

Merlin shook his head, tears dripping down onto the blankets crumpled in his lap. "Please," he said. "Leave me be. I can't be a part of all this any more. You need to rule and be your own King, whatever King you're going to be and just let me go."

Arthur stepped forward. "Merlin, I can't do this without you."

"You should have thought of that before!" Merlin yelled, fury rising and giving him strength as he pushed himself forwards on the bed, kneeling up, fists clenched. "I will not forgive you! I will never forgive you! And I will not help you! You are nothing to me now, Arthur, but the shadow of a friend I once knew. Just get out, before I do something I'll regret!"

Arthur staggered backwards a small step, his eyes going wide, his hand slipping unconsciously to his sword at the waves of anger rolling towards him.

Hard-won friendships have foundations of stone. They build like stalagmites, slowly compounding themselves over days and weeks of words and encounters and tiny gestures, and trust and laughter and tears. But all rock can be shattered when ice creeps through its weaknesses and flaws, expanding and forcing the cracks open into gaping wounds. And of course, once broken it will never be the same. A friendship is never the same. A darkness paws at the shadows.

He was a fool to think he could walk in here and they could be as they always had been.

"What's going on in here?"

The voice drew his gaze away from Merlin, and he saw Gaius standing at the open door, one hand on the frame. He took another step into the room, concern evident on his face.

Arthur glanced back at Merlin, and then to the physician.

"Forgive me," he said, and left hurriedly, never once looking back.

* * *

"I've destroyed everything," he said. "Everything. I've let anger and hatred blind me, and I've ruined a life, a life I should have been celebrating."

He almost flinched at the feel of her hand on his neck. He'd missed her touch. She sidled onto the bed beside him.

"I can't believe I did it, Gwen. I can't believe I did it to him."

"You can't change the past Arthur," she slid her hand into his. "But this is Merlin we're talking about. He will forgive you. You just need to give it more time."

"It's not him any more," he said shaking his head. "If you could have seen him. I've killed everything he was. It would have been kinder if I'd just…"

"I did see him," she corrected quickly. "He wasn't himself. He's sick, he's still…"

"I did that to him, Gwen. I made him sick; I've changed him. And I can't make it right. There's nothing I can do. He's right, I should just let him go."

"You've tried your best."

He laughed without humour. "This time my best wasn't good enough. Out-ranked by my worst, I fear."

"Then make him see sense."

"How?" he asked, incredulous. "He has every right to feel the way he does. If someone had done that to me… it was so unjust! I didn't even give him a trial. I didn't listen to anything anyone said. I just went on instinct, and it was so wrong."

She wrapped her arm around him tentatively, their make up still fresh and hesitant. She'd moved back into his chambers, though often she would still slip away before night fell.

"Arthur you are the bravest man I know, but you give up too easily when it's not a foe to slay or a dragon to quell. These things between people are the hardest things to conquer. But they are also the most important. You have to do something to bring Merlin back to us. To prove how much he means to you, to Camelot. To prove how sorry you are."

"What?" he demanded.

"A gesture."

"What sort of gesture?"

"I don't know," she said. "Something you've never done before. Something he wouldn't expect."

"It's going to have to be pretty amazing," he retorted with a raw smile. "With Merlin I've always learnt to expect the unexpected."

She smiled back. "Then make it amazing." She stroked his cheek. "I do love you," she said. "You know that."

He turned his head and put a hand up to cover hers. "I don't deserve it."

"Well, I didn't say you deserved it," she said, her smile deepening as she leaned in to kiss him fondly. He relaxed into it, feeling his world get just a little bit brighter.

Then she leaned back. "Better?"

"I'm always better with you Guinevere. You make me better."

They held each other in silence. Arthur broke it.

"You know the one thing," he said. "When I was talking to Merlin, he was mad at me, crazy mad, so angry. And if what Gauis said is true, he's powerful enough to kill me with a thought. But he didn't so much as… he didn't use his magic on me, not even a little."

"Of course not," she looked confused. "He wouldn't."

Arthur looked up, his eyes falling on his sword across the room, the sacred sword that Merlin had persuaded him to pull out of solid stone. It glinted in the candlelight, its runes stark in the metal. He was still King, whatever he'd done, the reminders were all around him, reminders of the Kingdom he'd built with Merlin's help.

"I just – I don't know what to do."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN - Thanks so much everyone for all the reviews. It's been a little overwhelming to be honest! Hope this last chapter doesn't disappoint. **

* * *

"_Emrys… Emrys…"_

"Leave me alone."

"_Emrys…" _the words slipped into his head like someone pouring honey into his ear. _"Join us." _

"Just one night. Can't I just have one night of uninterrupted sleep!" he moaned.

There was the sound of laughter, but gentle, not mocking. Not like his other nights.

"_But Emrys… you are not sleeping." _

"What?" Merlin opened his eyes to find that the words were true. He was awake, and the voice in his head was no more a dream than the four walls surrounding him. Walls that were unexpectedly bright, he noticed, blinking, and sitting up in confusion.

The blanket that had been covering his window and keeping the room in darkness all this time had been removed, and a rectangle of fresh light was playing on the far wall. He squinted at it, realising it was probably the first morning sunlight he'd seen in almost four months. He hadn't missed it that much.

But why was his window uncovered now? Gaius knew he hated the light, that it hurt his head, and made things go foggy. Whenever someone had tried to take the blanket away in the past few weeks, he'd always made such a fuss that it had been reluctantly left where it was. But now, someone had crept in and silently removed it while he slept.

How sneaky of them, he thought to himself, irritated.

He looked around, barely registering how the fogginess of his room was already settling as he hunted for the covering, intending to magic it back up to its former position. But there was no sign of it. Whoever had taken the blanket, had removed it entirely, although they did also appear to have left him breakfast. On his table sat a plate of bread and ham, and a beaker of something, and a bowl set beside them, which was faintly steaming in the morning sunlight.

"Gaius?" he called, craning round to look out of his open door. There was no response.

He screwed up his face, blinking his eyes and scrubbing at them. He wondered if he was ever going to shake the feeling of constant heaviness that was sitting on him, like he was too weak to move, or even be bothered thinking about getting out of bed. Maybe he should just go back to sleep, ignore the light, and the breakfast and burry his head under the blankets until Gaius re-appeared and he could shout at him properly for leaving him alone.

But that bread smelt so good. His stomach gurgled rudely.

Sighing, he pushed a foot out of bed, and then the other, and staggered upwards and over to the table. He ate quickly, and without thinking, dinking what turned out to be a very light ale, and letting his eyes stray to the bowl of hot water, which had clearly been left for the purpose of morning ablutions. With the idea in his head, as soon as he was finished the bread and ham, he washed his face, enjoying the feeling of the warm water soaking into his beard and hair and then dripping down his neck. He rubbed it all over. The water smelt of lavender.

"_Emrys…"_

His head shot up, drips of scented water flying off as he whipped around.

"_Emrys…"_

He reached for a drying sheet that had been left over his chair, then, on some instinct, looked around for clothes

Clothes.

He hadn't been dressed since they'd brought him back from the hall, shaking, exhausted, and reluctant to let even Gaius help him remove the tattered remnants of his old outfit. Since then, he'd been living in his sleep clothes like they were a second skin. But the cupboard that housed his clothes was still there, and he went over to it quickly, yanking the doors, and sighing heavily in frustration as he realised that nothing inside was his. The clothes were finer, fancier. Perhaps his room had been used for storage in his long absence – another sign of how they'd all so easily forgotten him, and moved on with their lives.

"_Emrys…_"

Well tough. Whoever the owner was they would just have to share, he thought crossly, as he grabbed dark brown trousers, a red chemise and a darker red over-shirt. He pulled them on quickly, barely noticing how well they fit as he huffed about tassels that didn't want to be on the right side of where they were supposed to go.

He found boots by the door, well shined and new, but still soft when he slipped them on. They smelt good quality, and were surprisingly comfortable as he walked out into Gaius' chamber, scanning it quickly to confirm that his guardian was not present.

He was all the way across the room and at the door before he felt his heart rate suddenly picking up, and a prick of sweat on his brow that was nothing to do with the swelter of the room, caused by the good fire banked up in the hearth. Going outside, even the idea of going outside, was still enough to panic him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing and gripping the door handle firmly.

He had to do this. Whatever was in his mind, was out there, calling to him and he had to go to it. He'd heard voices calling to him for most of his imprisonment, saying his name, telling him to be strong, that his time would come But those hadn't been the only voices he'd heard. There had been less kind ones, scornful and harsh: you're alone, they would say, they all hate you and what you are and that's why you're here, and no one's ever coming to let you out.

The voices had mingled, dancing in the darkness until he could almost see them, and certainly passing beyond the point where he could separate the imagined from the real. Whatever kind souls had been trying to reach him to offer support, they'd achieved little with their efforts beyond compounding his confusion.

But the voice in his head now was as real as day, and seeking out its source was as urgent for him as finding Gaius. His guardian, after all, hadn't left him alone these long weeks, not completely alone like this, not waking up to the solitude he feared almost as much as going outside.

Almost.

He opened his eyes, pulled over the door roughly, and walked out into the corridor.

There was no one at all in sight, or even in range of his hearing. Which was good, he didn't really want to be subject to any questions or scrutiny, or have people watching him. That's all people seemed to want to do: look at him, look at the sorcerer Arthur trained by sticking him in a hole in the ground.

The thought plagued him as he crossed down to the steps that would take him up into the higher reaches of the castle, and he suddenly realised that he was talking as he walked, telling himself off for being so stupid and weak. He stopped it quickly, not wanting to draw any attention, and started on the steps, keeping close in to the side as he ascended, taking the steps slowly and carefully in deference to his weak legs, and trailing a hand along the wall as he went, enjoying the odd security that the feeling of stone seemed to give him.

Somehow in his head, he knew he was making for the grand hall, and his feet took him there with barely an instruction from his brain. The only addition his thoughts made to the process was advising his feet to use the back entrance rather than going in through the main doors, and they complied willingly enough, bringing him around and in the side door, again with barely a thought.

He could hear the voices long before he reached the entrance, and he tried to pick out words and recognise who was speaking. There seemed to be laughter, but short bursts of it, as if those laughing didn't feel comfortable enough with their humour to express it for long. There was also applause, and the murmur of crowds talking amongst themselves. As he drew close, he could clearly make out the sound of Arthur's voice, and he picked up speed to get inside the room so that he could hear what his King was saying.

Keeping behind a pillar, he again put a hand to the stone, and listened.

"Once again I wanted to thank you all for coming here today, and thank you indeed for those kind words and unexpected gifts. It has been a long time since magic has been so openly performed within this great hall. But it is that very subject which I have called you all here to discuss. The subject of magic."

It took Merlin maybe 10 seconds to digest what Arthur had said, by which time he'd gone on to say other things, which the young warlock subsequently missed. He flipped himself round so that his back was to the pillar, and shut his eyes. _The subject of magic._

"…like my father before me," Arthur was saying behind him. "But I have now come to question whether that belief is in fact correct, and I have realised that I am not in possession of all the information that I need. When such decisions are made, they need to come from a base of wisdom and compassion, not fear and mistrust. In light of this, I wish to hold open talks with you all on the subject of magic, on its uses and abuses, its history, its mythologies, and its people I want you to convince me why magic should no longer be banned within the boundaries of Camelot, and I want you to be open and honest with me. In return, if I am compelled by your arguments, I will seek to immediately change the laws, and declare magic, and those who practice it, to be free in my kingdom once more."

As the crowd broke into excited murmurs, Merlin's eyes and mouth shot open at the same time. He felt his legs weaken further beneath him and he gripped the stone with damp palms to prevent a potentially embarrassing and painful trip to the floor.

Magic free? After all he'd been through, after all Arthur had done to him – was this his attempt to make things right? Or was it a trick? Was this his way of rounding up the magic users that his father had missed, and putting an end to them?

Merlin wondered who was in the hall, and used the distraction of the crowd to poke his head out from behind the pillar for a quick look.

The group standing before Arthur was larger than he'd been expecting – some thirty people. Some of the druids he recognised, and there was Alator of the Cathar. But the rest were unknown to him – it wasn't like he'd had much of a chance to hang out with sorcerers in his life. He wondered where they'd come from, and how Arthur had contacted them and persuaded them to attend.

The king held his hands up for silence, and Merlin hid himself once more as he began to speak.

"This may come as a shock to many, and I understand that change is difficult," he stated. "But I strongly feel that this is the way to proceed."

Merlin breathed. He sounded genuine – and say what you want about Arthur, he wasn't usually underhand. If he thought something he said it, and if he wanted to do something, he did it. But this was huge, this was unbelievable. He rubbed his face.

"King Arthur." Merlin recognised the voice of one of the druids. He'd met this man before on more than one occasion, though he did not know his name. "We thank you for your gracious welcome, and for the offer of peace between our peoples. For too long, those who practice magic with good will, and no evil intent have been living in fear for their lives. These abilities are natural, and though they must be developed, we have no choice as to whether we have magic within us or not, as to whether our children will grow up to have the ability or not.

"There are those who use magic for their own ends, but they are not the majority of our kind. If magic is made legal once more, if we are free once more, then we will gladly give our skills to assist you in the creation of this great kingdom; our abilities used for healing, and to help bring peace and protection to your people."

There were more murmurs around the hall at that.

When they died down, he continued. "Legends have long spoken of you, King Arthur, as a great man, a wise leader, who would bring about an age of stability, and rule over one of the greatest kingdoms this land has ever known – both magic users, and non-magic users. But I must ask, when the legends speak of you, they do not speak of you alone, they speak of you and another, both great men, both destined to bring about the return of magic to the land for the benefit of all peoples. The legends say you are two sides of the same coin, greater together, and greatly diminished when apart.

"I must confess that I expected to see both of you when I came here today. Please tell me: where is Merlin?"

There was another murmur around the hall, and Merlin closed his eyes in shame. The voices seemed mocking suddenly, harsh.

Arthur's voice rose above them. "Your words are kind," he said. "But you speak too well of me I'm afraid. If I am great, then I am also capable of great mistakes, and even as a King, I am not immune to making bad decisions. I made the worst one of my life not four months ago when it was revealed to me that Merlin, who you speak of, was in fact a sorcerer." More murmurs, but Arthur went on. "Merlin had been given my complete trust, and had proved himself a brave and selfless servant, time and time again. But when I discovered the truth about his abilities, I allowed my prejudices to get the better of me. I imprisoned him, cruelly, and for many months. But even after what I had done, when Camelot had need of him, when my beloved wife…" here he paused briefly, and Merlin could only assume that he was glancing to Gwen. "When she was in danger, and only magic could help, Merlin rose to the challenge and again put the life of others before his own. He has been released and exonerated, and is free to return to his position and live his life in Camelot. But my cruelties have affected him deeply, and he keeps to his room now. I have no doubt that you will find him there is you wish to see him. For my part, I deeply regret my actions, and wish only that I could go back to that moment, and make a different decision.

"Merlin is the reason that you are here today. He is the reason that my eyes have been opened to the goodness of magic. And I am more grateful to him than he will ever know, and more sorry that I can ever express."

In the silence that followed Arthur's heartfelt statement, Merlin raised his eyes to the roof, feeling the wetness on his cheeks as tears dripped down into his beard.

"King Arthur," the druid spoke again. "There are no perfect men in this world of ours. All that we can ever ask is that we know ourselves, and that we strive to be better. That have you taken this action is regrettable, but that you wish to make amends is the sign of a better person than you give yourself credit for.

"Merlin is known to my people as Emrys, but he has many other names, as he has been spoken of in our legends for an age and more. He was born to his power, and magic flows through his veins as blood flows through yours. He is connected to the earth, to all things living, magical and not. He has protected your kingdom, and without him you would have died many times over. He is the most powerful of all magical peoples, and yet he has endured a lowly position at your side for many years, seeking no reward, and striving only to keep you safe. Without him, we would not be living in the world we see today."

Arthur cleared his throat. "Indeed," his voice broke. "We all owe him a great debt. More, clearly than we know."

"Then you should tell him," the druid said, and Merlin could hear the humour in his voice, and with dread, knew what was about to happen.

"Unfortunately," Arthur responded. "Merlin has refused to see me these past few weeks. His reasons are quite understandable."

"You should tell him now then."

"What do you…?"

As Arthur broke off, Merlin could sense the eyes of the entire hall turn to look at the pillar he was hiding behind. He wondered briefly if this was simply another nightmare, and in a few seconds he would wake, with the sheets tangled around him, and the memories quickly fading. But it was real, and there was no easy awakening.

He sniffed, and swiped a hand quickly across his face, before turning and stepping out before the crowd.

There were gasps from the bystanders, and smiles from many of the knights, at his sudden appearance. Merlin knew then that none of this had been an accident: the food, the water, the clothes, the voice in his head. He caught sight of Gaius looking rather pleased with himself in the crowd as he came forward, but before he could even throw him a disgruntled look, he was distracted more by the shocking reaction of the magic users standing before the King. They, all of them, dropped to their knees before him in honest reverence to the greatest warlock that had ever lived.

Who pretty much wanted the floor to just crack open a fissure right at his feet and swallow him whole.

He was crying now, which was – humiliating, but fairly uncontrollable, and he moved forward as quickly as his legs could carry him.

"Please," he said quietly. "Please don't kneel to me."

"Merlin!" came a voice from behind him, and he turned to see Arthur staring at him in abject and genuine shock, clearly not part of the scheme to get him to the hall. The King came forward himself, and then, to Merlin's utter embarrassment, also lowered himself to one knee and dropped his head before him.

Merlin gasped slightly, watching as a grinning Gwen stood from her throne and did the same. And then of course, when the King kneeled the people follow, and he whipped around as the whole hall proceeded to genuflect towards him.

He put both hands to his face. It was too much. He wanted to hide. Wanted to go back to his room and his bed and his tiny world and see no one and do nothing and just forget what had happened.

Arthur, seeing his distress, rose quickly and came towards him, taking his hands.

Everyone rose to their feet again, but Merlin's eyes were on the floor, and he couldn't look at anyone.

"I'm so sorry," the King said. "Merlin, I'm so sorry for everything."

He nodded briefly, unable to speak.

"The best days of Camelot are still before you," a voice came from behind them, and they turned to see the druid smiling benignly. "And together, you will make this kingdom a shining light that will be the wonder of the world."

Arthur turned to Merlin. "Will you help me?" he asked. "I've said it before, and you know I mean it. I can't do this without you. And you'll be free to use magic. Magic will be free."

Merlin looked at him then, and looked around him. Arthur had done this. He had challenged everything he believed and everything he'd been taught to bring these people here, to publicly acknowledge magic. To make these people free. And he'd done it for him. All this was for him. It was overwhelming, it was staggering. It was more than he could have imagined. And in that moment, Arthur became his King again, still an idiot, still with so much to learn and so much to make better, and so much to do.

But he was human, after all, and which of us ever walks a path through life without making a few hideous wrong turns along the way? It was down to your friends and your heart to guide you back to the road you were meant to travel.

Taking in a breath, Merlin tried to steady his voice. "Yes," he said eventually. "I will."

"Long live the King!" someone shouted, and the hall quickly erupted into loud applause and woops and cheers from all angles.

Arthur gathered his warlock friend into a firm embrace, feeling him shake with emotion. "I really am so sorry," he said into his ear, barely heard over the hullabaloo around them.

Merlin drew back to look him in the eye. "I know, Arthur," he said softly.

"Can you ever forgive me?"

He considered his King, thinking carefully, running through the emotions in his heart, and the feelings in his soul. "Yes," he responded eventually, then quickly shook his head. "But not this day. Not yet." Arthur looked crestfallen. "It was too much," Merlin went on. "It almost destroyed me, and you have to understand that. I can't just forgive and forget and move on like nothing happened, because it changed everything. But this, what you've done today, this starts something. It starts something. Give me time."

Arthur put his hands on his arms. "All the time in the world," he asserted. "We'll do this together. And I promise, nothing will come between us again."

Merlin shrugged faintly. "You can't promise that," he said, then smiled. "But who am I to challenge a legend?"

Arthur smiled back at that, and docked him very gently on the chin as the cheers around them continued. "So when are you going to shave off that ridiculous beard?" he asked.

Merlin raised his hand and rubbed it over his face, ignoring the hall, allowing himself to feel better suddenly, better than he had done in weeks. "Do you know what," he said, looking into the face of his King. "I think I might just keep it."

FIN


End file.
